As Long As You're Mine
by AuburnFan01
Summary: Sex isn't the ultimate expression of love, but Sheldon discovers little intimacies and moments can turn fondness into love. Sheldon/Miranda, post "I'm Fine," pre "In Which We Say Goodbye."
1. Chapter 1

******Summary: **Sex isn't the ultimate expression of love, but Sheldon discovers he wants all the intimacy he can handle with a woman he can't have forever. Sheldon/Miranda, post "I'm Fine," pre "In Which We Say Goodbye."

**Rating: **T-M for sexual scenarios.

******Author's Note: **"I'm Fine" is one of the most beautiful episodes of PP I've seen. I loved it, especially since it focused on Sheldon, who has been one of my favorite characters in the show.

First part is rated T, part two may be rated M (I will change the rating if this happens). This has the potential to be a four-parter, but will not exceed that.

Reviews are very much appreciated! I can't be the only one out here who loves these two!

* * *

"I'll have the You-Can-Do-Anything salad," Miranda orders with a smirk that makes Sheldon smile. He's already ordered, and watches her tap her manicured nails against the menu as she speaks with the teenage waitress. His hands are clasped together, resting passively on the tabletop as he waits for the Miranda to finish her order so they can be alone.

"Instead of the vinaigrette dressing, can I get ranch?" When the waitress nods, Miranda smiles and hands her menu over. "Thank you."

Sheldon smiles as the waitress leaves and comments, "You weren't kidding."

"About the names? Optimistic and organic. Totally California." Miranda smirks. "It's better than a You're-Gonna-Die-Eating-This burger or Forget-Your-Diet chicken sandwich. More motivational."

"Just as many calories, I'm sure."

"And you call yourself an optimist." Miranda avoids his piercing gaze, gentle and undemanding but one that intimidates her all the same. The pain in Sheldon's eyes worries her, but she refuses to look at it for very long, knowing that when she looks back at him the pain will still be there.

"Miranda?"

She gazes up at him and smiles weakly.

"I have a proposition for you." He reaches out his hand to her and smiles when she accepts it. Her hand feels warm and soft against his, and he squeezes it with another sincere smile. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Whatever you're thinking of right now."

Sheldon chuckles and tenderly caresses her thumb, running circles with the soft pad of his thumb. Her hand relaxes in his, but she doesn't pull away, and Sheldon is thankful her gaze hasn't left his. "Have you ever been to the opera?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Do you want to go?"

"I love the orchestra…" Miranda shrugs and turns the tables on him, her forefinger brushing against the tops of his knuckles. The simple touch electrifies his senses, and he feels a tightening of his chest, a shortness of breath, and he's once again reminded how deeply he cares for this woman.

"But you don't want to go?"

"It's not that."

"So what is it?" Sheldon worries that she'll say no, but she still hasn't avoided his gaze. "Do you want to do something else?"

"I don't have anything to wear to an opera," Miranda admits quietly. Frustration doesn't line her voice, but embarrassment, and she squeezes his hand a little tighter. "I don't…I don't feel the most comfortable."

His job is to notice the small details. He prides himself in that skill. So when she glances down at her chest, Sheldon immediately knows what she's saying. "We can just stay in if you'd like. I can cook for you."

Her eyes light up and she smiles enough for the sadness on her face to fade away. "You can cook?"

"I can cook. You sound surprised."

"Is your cooking any good?"

"I've been told so." He chuckles. "You don't believe me? Never had a man cook for you?"

"Never. I…My husband never really knew his way around the kitchen. He tried once, but…It didn't end well. We had to redo the kitchen after that." A small smile breaks through the memory. "Sometimes I think he did so horrible on purpose because he hates to cook. I didn't think anyone could be so bad, so I always think he may have faked it to get out of cooking."

It doesn't surprise Sheldon to learn that a man insensitive enough to ask for a divorce in a email wouldn't have the courtesy to at least try to cook for his wife.

"I'm glad I can be the first one to cook for you then." When she places her free hand over their joined ones, Sheldon smiles and does the same. The warmth from her hands, her intimate, delicate touch, spreads a heat through him so intense he cannot stop looking at her.

He would hold her hand all day if he could.

_**…**_

"I like her."

"And that scares you?" Sheldon's therapist questions.

Sheldon leans back against the couch with a sigh, wishing they had two more seconds in a session that has forty minutes left.

He doesn't want to talk about Miranda, about her terminal illness, but if he doesn't talk to _someone _he is going to go insane. A man whose belief firmly sides with therapy, Sheldon has discovered that his therapist is the best person to talk to, even if he doesn't want to.

"She's dying. Today, tomorrow, the day after that. Who knows? She could die any moment."

"And that scares you?"

More than he is willing to admit, even to her. He's scared of getting too close, scared that he already has and there's no way to protect his heart when the moment comes.

"You almost lost her once," his therapist supplies the memory, coaxing him to communicate. "You told me that a few sessions ago. That you thought she had died. And then the next day she hadn't?"

"And we've spent every day together ever since." Sheldon smiles at the memories, the simple, but intimate thoughts that will connect him to her always.

"It's been two weeks. That's a lot of time to spend with someone in your situation."

"It hasn't felt like a long time. But I still…" Sheldon shrugs. "I feel like I've known her forever."

"Why is that?"

"We connect," he explains. "In ways that..." Sheldon stops himself from admitting too much but says, "I take her to lunch and dinner and even though both of us haven't changed our routines, nothing really is going on, we talk about that don't revolve around cancer."

"I'd say cancer is a pretty big thing going on in both of your lives at the moment," his therapist suggests. "Even if your cancer may go into remission soon. It's still a part of who you are, a part of your daily life. And hers, too, in even more profound ways."

"We try to avoid discussion of it as much as we can."

"Why?"

"Neither of us wants her to die."

"You both will one day," she challenges.

"But she will sooner." And the thought kills him, and the thought both inhibits and propels his desire to spend time with Miranda.

"You knew this going into it. Time is limited, Sheldon. You know that as a therapist, and as a human."

"It doesn't make it any easier to accept."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Sheldon shrugs and twists his hands together. He considers his response under the inquisitive gaze of his therapist. Sheldon wishes that to be honest with her, he wouldn't have to be honest with himself. "You're a therapist."

"I am."

"So you get it, being a therapist. You get the job and what it entails and how you counsel people. You know the tools to help patients heal."

"As do you. How does this relate to your situation with Miranda?"

"It..." He pauses to formulate his response. "I know the tools necessary to grieve and cope. I know them all. I preach them to patients daily. I know how to accept the time when it's come."

"And you're suggesting that's what makes it hard? Knowing the tools but not feeling equipped to apply them?"

"It's definitely different on the other side," Sheldon comments sadly.

"And that scares you? Knowing that Miranda's going to die, but still getting close to her anyway?"

"Scares me more than my own cancer."

"Why?"

Sheldon meets her gaze for the first time in this appointment to admit, "Prostate cancer I can survive. I can even one day return to the man I was before cancer, both physically and emotionally. It won't kill me if I fight it. But Miranda...She's dying. She has brain and breast cancer. And I'm still spending days with her. I'm still getting close."

"You've displayed the characteristics necessary to go through this with someone else. Are you having second thoughts?"

"That's not it." Sheldon sighs and shakes his head. "It's just...I'm not doing myself any good by getting close to her, knowing she's going to die. That's not doing me any good."

"Do you think your life would be better were she never in it?"

He doesn't even need to consider it. "No."

"So then why do you think her presence in your life won't do you any good?"

"The more time I spend with her, the more that I..." He stops himself from admitting too much, but his therapist can see he's holding back, and he can't help but close his eyes. It's too much. "The more time I spend with her, the more it's going to hurt when it's all over."

"Are you going to let your fear stop you from being in an honest, true relationship with her?"

_Sometimes I think I already am. _

After a deep breath, Sheldon admits, "I try not to, but it's hard. It's hard to jump into something completely when you know the end is, not near, but there. You know, I've heard people say that fear is a prison. I just...I never thought it was one I'd ever be trapped in."

_**…**_

"No talk of cancer tonight," Miranda encourages with a gentle, promising kiss.

In that moment Sheldon is able to forget because her lips are just soft enough, her arms around his neck hug him tight against her, and her wig is enough to fool even the smartest man. He moves to return her kiss, but Miranda pulls away before their lips can meet again.

"You promise me, Sheldon? No talk of cancer?"

"I promise. Now can I…?"

He smiles when she bridges the distance between them, their lips meeting in a tender, slow heat he knows excites them both. In the past weeks between them, they have kissed so much that the moments start to blur together. But Sheldon remembers every kiss like it's the first time all over again.

Miranda pulls away moments later to breathe. She smiles when he tries to kiss her again, but she puts a finger against his lips. "Wait."

Miranda's hands cup Sheldon's cheeks gently, and she looks into his eyes, and she sees a man who sees her completely for who she is, not just a woman with cancer and a well-placed wig. With him, she may not have one of her breasts, but she still very much feels like a woman.

Sheldon covers her hands in his own with a smile. "What?"

"Thank you for today."

Sheldon takes one of her hands and presses it against his lips in a kiss. "The day isn't over yet."

"No?"

"We still have dinner," Sheldon reminds her, and he kisses her hand again. "Which, if it's as good as what I made for you last time—"

"Which I loved."

"Then you'll love this even more," he promises. "It's cooking in the oven as we speak."

Miranda hums softly and wraps her arms around his neck once more. Her body inches closer to his until her chest touches his. With a quick, gentle kiss, she suggests, "How about you kiss me until it's done?"

"It has another twenty minutes."

"Kiss me anyway."

Sheldon kisses her, at first soft but increasingly passionate as he wraps his arms around her, holding her close.

With one arm around her shoulders, the other curved around the small of her back, they kiss until it's hard to breathe. A moment's separation ends when her mouth captures his again, pleading and so deliciously warm that Sheldon considers ignoring dinner all together.

Miranda wraps her arms around his neck, one hand buried in his hair, the other cupping his cheek. "Girl can get used to this kind of five star treatment."

"You're more than welcome to," Sheldon agrees. "I won't give you anything less."

"I think that deserves another kiss."

"And maybe cuddling later?" He asks, hopeful.

"Oh, there will _definitely_ be that."

**_…_**

"Good morning Sheldon," Violet greets as she steps onto the elevator with him. She smiles when he nods in acknowledgment. "You okay?"

"Fine. Why?"

"You just seem a little tired is all."

"I'm fine," Sheldon reassures her. He smiles as the elevator door slides shut. He wishes Violet hadn't already pushed the button for their floor, so that he could fill the silence with the action. Not in the mood to make small talk, he looks down at his shoes and patiently waits for the ride to end so they can part.

"Sheldon?"

_So close_. He glances at her with a warm, optimistic smile. "Yeah, Violet?"

"Have you ever missed someone for the little things?"

Sheldon pulls the emergency stop before they can reach the floor. He turns to face her, and he sees sadness outweigh panic. Frustrated that he's still the resident therapist for the practice, even for a fellow therapist, Sheldon hopes this will be quick. "What's going on, Violet?"

"I miss Pete. Well, I don't miss him, exactly. Just...Just the little things."

"Like?"

"Cuddling."

Sheldon smiles. "I never pegged Pete as a man with an affinity for cuddling."

"Oh, he wasn't. But he did it for me, because he knew I enjoyed it," Violet answers with a shrug. "I just...I miss it. Having someone to just be alone with at the end of the day. Someone you can hold onto when everything is falling apart."

"I know how that feels."

Violet chuckles. "Do you, Sheldon?"

"Yes." He understands it better than she could ever imagine. "You think about it all day, how you get to go home to that person and wrap your arms around them. It makes everything a little easier to deal with, and your daily routine doesn't feel so monotonous anymore. You feel a little less alone. A little more loved."

"It's intimate."

"Very," Sheldon agrees.

**_..._**

"Sheldon," Charlotte scolds, "I am lyin' here in a hospital bed worryin' about my babies. You think I wanna advise you on sex?"

"No."

"Then _why _are you here botherin' me about it?"

"I just…" Sheldon sighs and shakes his head in bitter disappointment. "I guess I hoped talking about something you enjoyed might get your mind off this miserable state you're in."

"The only thing that's gonna get me outta this miserable mess is the birth of my babies. Healthy. Alive. Babies born. Can you do that for me?" When he doesn't answer, because she's only 34 weeks along, she lets her head fall against the pillow. With a deep exhale, Charlotte sees the frustration in his eyes and asks, "Any other reason you're askin' me about sex?"

"No."

Her eyebrow quirks up in disbelief. "No?"

"Yes," Sheldon agrees. He rubs his temple thoughtfully, shakes his head, and glances back at Charlotte with a weak smile. "Nothing's wrong, Charlotte. I was just trying to get your mind off your pain."

"I don't believe you. There's somethin' more." Her lips curve in a knowing smirk Sheldon doesn't like, and Charlotte props herself up on her elbows. "You found yourself a new woman?"

"You're guessing."

"But I'm guessin' right, aren't I?"

Sheldon sighs softly, but he doesn't dare meet her eyes when the smirk grows to a grin, proud and full of interest. "Listen, I'm sorry I ever brought this up. All I was trying to do—"

"Are you having problems…performing?"

"It's not my performance I'm concerned with," Sheldon mutters. Before she can interject, stunned at his admission, he tells her, "Listen, I don't want to talk about this, Charlotte."

"You brought it up! And now," she lets out a low chuckle, "now I'm intrigued. Who is this woman? You meet her at the gym?"

"Y-Yeah." The gym. His code for radiation therapy he no longer experiences because the treatment is over. It's treatment that Miranda still suffers through because of a promise she's made to her niece, and treatment Sheldon still goes with her to so she doesn't have to sit alone.

It keeps his ruse alive, so no one will ever have to know.

"Well, come on! I have to live vicariously through you! What's her name?"

"Charlotte—"

"You started this," Charlotte reminds him bitterly with a firm, no-nonsense tone that tells Sheldon she will not give up. "Now you've piqued my interest. Spill."

"I should go."

"You will not! You leave this room and I'm callin' security on you!" When he stops, mid-rise, she encourages him to sit. "Come on, Sheldon. I'm lyin' here in this room all day long without anyone here to keep me company. I need some talkin'. I need some conversation. Humor me. Please?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You came here askin' me about sex. Your opening line through that door was askin' me if I can give you any advice. You don't just ask someone that and pretend you never did." When he stares at her in disbelief, she attempts a different approach and reminds him, "I can help you. It is my speciality, after all."

"I don't want your help anymore." He'd have to tell her about his cancer, Miranda's, too, and the thought unsettles him. He's not prepared to admit that much, not now. "But I guess now I've got it, hm?"

"Oh, yeah. Tell me about her. How exactly did y'all meet? What's her name? What's she like?" After a moment, she squints at Sheldon, who has said nothing and only twists his hands together, and probes, "What's your physical problem? If you're havin' trouble performin', that's solvable."

"I'm not telling you anything ever again." Sheldon stands and leaves the hospital room.

_**...**_

"You know the one good thing about wearing a wig?" Miranda quips as she leans over the toilet, preparing for an unattractive show of lunch making a comeback. She rests her head against the cold, clean basin, and chuckles when Sheldon shakes his head. "Moments like this when I'm about to throw up, I don't need to pull my hair back."

"No?"

"I just rip the wig off. No mess."

Sheldon laughs and shakes his head again. He relaxes against the edge of the bathtub fixed into the wall that doubles as a shower, and he rests an arm against the edge. Sitting upright, he crosses his ankles and watches Miranda watch him. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

Miranda laughs. "This is definitely my most attractive light."

"What can I say? I'm attracted to optimistic women." She hasn't thrown up yet, but the nauseous feeling he knows all to well from his own radiation treatments tells Sheldon it will come soon.

"Yeah, well, pretty soon you're going to have enough optimism for the both of us."

"Gonna throw up?"

"I'm gonna die."

Sheldon doesn't respond and nervously bites his bottom lip. "You promised we wouldn't talk about that tonight."

Miranda frowns and quips, "Nice game of tag we play, hm? One night you promise not to talk about it, one night I promise to, and somehow, in the sick workings of the world, we end up talking about it anyway. It's like a disease."

Sheldon knows she's joking to ease the grimace on his features, but it doesn't help. "We had a nice evening."

"Until I dry heaved in the middle of a romantic moment?"

"There's nothing romantic about a kiss on the cheek, Miranda." He remembered his initial surprise. Concern overtook any other emotion when she'd doubled over, coughing and sputtering in pain. He'd helped her to the bathroom, and they sat in the positions they are in now, waiting for her to vomit.

"It was until I gagged," she reminds him with a weak smile. "You would have kissed me?"

"I was already kissing you."

"On the lips, Sheldon," Miranda responds with a shake of her head. "You would have kissed me on the lips if I hadn't dry heaved."

Sheldon smiles in response. "Oh, yeah."

Miranda sighs and rolls her eyes. "Side effects of radiation ruined a good moment. Never happened to me before. My ego's a little bruised. I don't think I'd ever be able to look at you again if I threw up on you." She smiles back at him and comments, "I don't even know how I can look at you right now. You should run for the hills."

"I'm comfortable right where I'm at."

"Even if I throw up? You really want to see me in that light?"

He snorts. "Trust me, I've seen worse. A little nausea from radiation treatment doesn't scare me. It'll take a lot more than that to push me away."

"You're a saint."

_And you're an angel_.

Even if Miranda is spread out over the rim of the toilet, vomiting, he'd rather sit here in the bathroom with her than be back at his apartment wondering how she is. Here he knows, and he can help, even if it's just with a comforting hand on her shoulder. He can do something.

He can help make her feel a little less alone in her struggle, and that makes all the disgust worth it.

"Sheldon?"

"Yeah?"

"When we first met, what'd you think of me?" Miranda adds, "I mean at the hospital, not at the treatment center. I was a bit rude the first time that we met."

"First time we met?" Sheldon whistles. "You still are!" He laughs when she throws a towel at him, and he wraps it in his hands. The fabric is soft and clean, and it smells like dryer sheets. He grins when Miranda smirks at him. "The first time we met, hm?"

"I'll tell you what I first thought of you."

"Not sure I want to hear that one."

"It's good, I promise." Her leg extends until her bare foot rubs against his pant leg, and she gives him a soft, playful kick. "Come on, Sheldon. Humor a sick woman."

He smiles, scoots forward, and takes her small, fragile foot in his hands. Cancer has reduced her to almost nothing, and he can feel every ridge and bone in her feet. Cold to his touch, Sheldon covers them with both hands and begins to rub gently, the soft pads of his thumbs working circles even as his hands create warm friction.

A light application of pressure draws a whimper from Miranda, and Sheldon worries for a moment that he's hurt her, so he pulls his hands away.

"No, no," she whispers. "Don't stop."

Sheldon resumes his gentle foot massage with a warm smile. Meeting the green eyes that blanket over in a dim haze, he tells her, "First time we met I thought there's a woman I could help. I was having a bad night, you know."

"Your ex told you to get lost, right?"

"Not as crudely." Sheldon smiles when she shrugs, as if the actual words do not matter, and doesn't make the flee any less painful. "Like I told you, if you're having a bad day—"

"The best way to cheer yourself up is to cheer someone else up," Miranda finishes. "Mark Twain. I still owe you a dollar, don't I?"

"I'll never ask for it."

"You really are a saint. That's what I first thought of you." She whimpers when he applies more pressure. Letting her body slide off the basin, she relaxes against the wall but inches closer to him, encouraging him to pay attention to her right foot. Propping herself up on her elbows, Miranda smiles when he lets go of her left foot in exchange for the right, and adds, "You bought me a chocolate bar."

"It was nothing."

"That was one good chocolate bar." Miranda hums at the memory before she moans when he works out a knot. Her toes curl and she clenches her hands. "I've never met a man with such soft but firm hands before."

"Too much pressure?"

"Just enough."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Sheldon smiles to see her eyes flutter open and she flashes him a brilliant, satisfied grin. "What would you do if I stopped?"

"I'd kill you."

"Guess I can't stop. Don't want that."

"Me either. Who else is going to give me a foot massage and cook me dinner?"

"That the only reason you keep me around?"

"You know it," Miranda says with a smirk.

Sheldon gazes at her, at the woman who slowly deteriorates before his eyes, and wonders when the last time was she'd treated herself to a pampering. He makes a vow to buy her a visit to an all-inclusive spa, where she'll receive a genuine, more pleasurable massage from a trained professional.

She slides her feet from his grasp and readjusts her position so she's sitting against the wall, a few tiles distance between them. When she reopens her eyes, Miranda smiles at him.

"I thought you told me not to stop?"

"Don't want to get too used to such amazing treatment," Miranda explains with a shrug. "Won't have it forever."

Sheldon frowns, and he moves so he's sitting in front of her. Cupping her warm, flushed cheeks in his hands, he kisses the bridge of her nose, her closed eyelids, and her forehead. Clammy skin saddens him, but he smiles slightly when she grips his wrist. Miranda's hands tighten around his wrists like he'll pull away and never return, so to calm her, Sheldon kisses her lips.

They are dry and cracked, but he doesn't care. Sheldon kisses her again and promises, "I'll be here as long as you want me."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sheldon."

"I don't make promises I can't keep. And I'm promising you," he kisses her again, "I am not going anywhere."

Her nails dig into his wrists. His body doesn't register the pain, the marks she will leave because as soon as his lips leave hers, she follows and kisses him fiercely, filled with such honest, overwhelming passion that he wishes she didn't have cancer so he could make love to her. Miranda kisses him like they will have no tomorrow, the heat and passion and desire unlike anything he's ever experienced. It's a don't go, not yet. More importantly, it's a thank you for all of the things he's done, for all the ways he's shown her he's here to stay.

Her breath catches mid-kiss, and Miranda pulls away with a shudder. Sheldon realizes she's crying when he feels her body shake against him. Concerned, he cups her chin and encourages her to look at him. When she does, the green eyes he's come to love are filled with tears, and streaks stream down her puffy, pink cheeks.

"Sheldon…"

"Miranda?"

"Go." She attempts to push him away, but her strength is no match for his. "Sheldon, go. Please don't do this. Please..."

"Miranda, please-"

"You should go," Miranda whispers with shaky, strangled breaths. "Leave before it's too late."

"No."

"Go! Damn it, _just go_!"

"Miranda, I can't." Sheldon holds onto her wrists tight as she attempts to wiggle from his grasp. "This is my apartment."

"Oh. Oh!" Miranda tries to stand, but Sheldon keeps her against the wall. Given her thinning frame, it is no difficult feat. "Sheldon, please let me go. Let me go."

"No."

"Let me-!" A shuddering sob interrupts her plea, and Miranda collapses against him, head buried in the crook of his neck, hands balling the fabric of his shirt into fists. Leaning into him, she lets out another sob that breaks his heart. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"It's okay, Miranda."

"It's not. It's not."

"It is," Sheldon reassures her gently, kissing her cool forehead. He wraps his arms around her, and he helps Miranda shift until she's straddling him, collapsed against him with her legs on either side of his. He holds her safely against him, one hand on the small of her back, the other cupping her cheek. Her arms snake around him, and she holds on tight.

When she pulls away to meet his gaze, Sheldon kisses away the tears on her cheeks.

Miranda clutches his wrists and intakes a heavy breath. "You should leave before it's too late," she whispers. "Before we get too far into this. Save yourself the pain of being with a dying woman. Just do it, Sheldon. I won't be mad. Go before it's too late and it'll hurt too much."

"Oh, sweetheart…" He cups both of her cheeks in his hands and shakes his head. "It's already too late."

Miranda doesn't say anything as she leans against him again, sliding her body backward until she is just short enough to rest her head on his shoulder. His arms tighten around her, holding her close, and she smiles to feel his lips ghost over the sweaty skin of her forehead. "You didn't leave."

"No." No matter how hard he's tried, he can't leave her. Sheldon cannot bring himself to dislike her, even though that would be easier than to admit he adores her.

"Stay with me tonight," Miranda pleads in a whisper. "I know I begged you to leave..."

"I'm not going anywhere." It's a promise Sheldon intends to keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary: **Sheldon and Miranda discuss and expand their mutual desire for physical intimacy.

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **Don't own.

**A/N:** Part two of a decided four. So, I guess this is also pre "Good Fries Are Hard to Come By" because this doesn't incorporate Sheldon telling Amelia about his cancer/their discussion about love in the end of 6x11.

The next installment, Chapter 3 and eventually Chapter 4, will both be rated M. I will change the rating as soon as those chapters are posted, which may not be for a while. Just wanted to give the heads up for anyone uncomfortable with material of the sexual nature.

* * *

"I hate that you sleep with your socks on."

Sheldon laughs and stares up at the ceiling. The bed creaks beneath them as Miranda sifts against him, so that her head rests on his shoulder and her hand draws lines across his chest. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and kisses her hair. "Well, I hate how you squeeze the toothpaste from the middle."

"It's easier."

"Than the five seconds it takes to push the toothpaste at the bottom to the top?"

"Yes. That's five seconds of my life I will never get back. I'm not going to waste it on toothpaste." Miranda rolls her eyes and deeply exhales. "Fine. I hate how…Oh!" She pokes his chest. "I hate how you psychoanalyze me."

"I have _never_ done that."

"You will one day, and I'm going to _hate_ it." Miranda smiles and chuckles when he pats her shoulder. "Your turn."

"There's not much I don't like about you."

"There has to be something. I'm not perfect. And neither are you." When Sheldon doesn't respond for a few moments, Miranda lifts her head and smiles warmly to see Sheldon stare up at the ceiling. He hasn't heard her, caught up in some image on the painted wall that she cannot see. "I can't believe you find my ceiling more interesting than me."

"I thought of something that I hate about you."

"Oh, wonderful."

Sheldon grins when Miranda kisses his cheek, and he sighs in content when she cuddles back against him, snuggling closer so she's practically lying on top of him. Her legs twine with his, she buries her forehead against his neck, and Sheldon wonders what he would have done if neither of them had cancer. He wonders if, instead of lying on his bed clothed, they would be more intimate. Without clothes. He pushes away the thought and tells her, "I hate that we don't get to spend more time together."

"We have lunch, dinner, and cuddle quite frequently. What more could you possibly want?"

He wishes for everything, even though Sheldon isn't quite sure what that means. So he smiles, shrugs, and says, "I don't know. It's your turn."

"I hate…" Miranda hooks her leg over his so she's straddling him, and she smirks as she kisses him. "That we didn't meet before we had cancer. I was quite the catch."

"You're quite the catch now." Sheldon kisses her once, then twice because she kisses him back, and the kisses remain tender and slow even though he would give anything to deepen the kiss, to take it to a whole other level. But he doesn't, and when they need to part for air, Sheldon lets his head fall back against the pillow with a happy hum. He laughs when she starts to kiss his jawline.

"You aren't so bad yourself," she whispers with another kiss against his skin.

"You know what I hate—"

"Sheldon," Miranda pulls away to stare down at him with a frown, "I just complimented you and you're going to continue with this silly, pointless game? Wouldn't you want another compliment?"

"I want another kiss."

"Well, you're going to get neither if you finish that sentence."

Sheldon smiles slightly at her challenge, and his eyes soften when she raises an eyebrow. "I hate that our time is limited."

Her face falls, and she starts to move away from him. Sheldon stops her. For a few moments Miranda refuses to meet his gaze, but when she does, she tells him, "I think it makes us appreciate each other a little bit more. It's why the game was amusing. Because we mean it, but we kind of don't because it doesn't matter. None of it matters. Except…Except for the fact that I have cancer and I'm dying."

Sheldon sighs. Her lips meet his in a soft, lingering kiss. It's intimate and exquisite, not seductive and passionate. Miranda kisses him again, and even though she's above him, Sheldon can still feel her tremble. Tears fall from her face to land on his, and through her sadness, she laughs. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Sheldon swipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb and smiles when she nervously grins. "Anything else you need to get off your chest?"

"I hate that I'm dying." Miranda rests her head on his shoulder and sighs. His arm wrap around her, and her eyes close as he tenderly begins to caress her back. Sheldon holds her, and for the first time she feels a little less scared. "Can I tell you something, Sheldon?"

"Of course."

"Do you remember the day you came late? Because of traffic?" For a few moments, they lie in silence, so Miranda supplies, "It was the day that I hinted at going on a date, and you totally didn't get the hint."

"I got the hint."

"Well then why'd you rebuff it only to kiss me the next day?"

"I was afraid," he confesses and kisses her hair again. "Of what, I'm not even sure. I just know that I was too scared to take that step. To take the friendship outside of that room, like you never wanted to happen."

"I'm so thankful it did."

"Me too." Sheldon means it. He's so thankful for the time he can share with Miranda even though it's limited. Or maybe, he realizes as she places a single kiss against his neck, it's because their time is limited that makes him so thankful, so happy with the few precious moments they share.

"I was just going to tell you that in the five minutes you were late, I worried that maybe you wouldn't show up. I was so worried you'd never walk through that door. I think that's why I hinted at a date."

"Because you knew what it felt like to fear the worst and didn't want to waste any more time?"

"Exactly. How'd you know?" Miranda chuckles. "Well, of course you'd know, I guess. You are a psychologist."

Sheldon cups her cheeks and forces her to meet his gaze. He smiles softly at the tears that fill her eyes and the few stray ones that have fallen down her cheeks. "I knew because it was how I felt the next morning, when you didn't show up. And I thought you had died. So the next morning, when I found out you weren't…"

"I'm glad you kissed me. And I'm really glad we decided to break the rules and take the friendship to a whole," she kisses him, "new level."

"It's nice, isn't it? Having someone with you through the worst?"

Miranda takes his hand in hers and brings it against hers for a kiss. She smiles when he covers their joined hands with his free one. "It's nice to have someone there to hold your hand as you're dying. It's very…calming. It makes it easier to go through when you're not going through it alone."

"Thank you, Miranda."

Her eyes light up, and her eyebrows raise. "For what, Sheldon?"

"For holding my hand when I have cancer."

Miranda snuggles against him, and he feels her breath ghost against his ear as she promises, "Until the very end."

**_…_**

"You run a little late at the gym today, Sheldon?" Amelia asks as Sheldon walks into the break room one morning. He smirks but is otherwise silent, a response Amelia is unaccustomed to. With no response, she raises a curious eyebrow and tries again. "Sheldon?"

"Yeah, the gym. Just…Lost track of time, I guess."

"Really?"

Sheldon doesn't answer as he opens the fridge, ducks inside, and pulls out bottled water. He turns back to her with a smile, and Amelia leans against the island in a challenge. The amusement in her eyes alarms him, but he sips and doesn't respond at first. After a swallow, and a purse of Amelia's lips, he asks, "What?"

"You look…different."

"I'm not. Same person I was yesterday."

"You're happier."

Sheldon chuckles and joins her at the island, but sits across from her. "And that's a bad thing because…?"

"It's not. It's just different."

"You know, I'm actually glad you're here. There was something I wanted to pick your brain about. Do you have time?"

"Yeah. Shoot."

His smile turns serious, and Sheldon nervously taps his foot against the tile floor. He isn't sure how to say this, isn't positive that he wants to. Sheldon isn't sure how he can reveal few details with what he needs to say. "This is confidential. I don't want…I want discretion."

"As in no one else in the practice knows and you want it kept that way?"

"Correct."

"Are you okay, Sheldon?"

"I'm fine," Sheldon reassures her, even though he isn't sure how truthful that statement really is. "This is about a friend of mine. I just want your professional opinion on something."

"She could come in for a consult, you know, and I can better assess—"

"She won't come in. She's told me so." That's not true. Sheldon never asked Miranda if she'd consult a neurosurgeon about her brain cancer; he knows she hasn't. If she knew what he is about to ask, Sheldon knows she would be furious. He's outright lied to a colleague, but he doesn't care. He fishes because he needs to know if there is any chance that Miranda can be saved.

"Well then what's the point if she won't—"

"Amelia, please. Just help me out here. I need to know if she has a chance to survive."

"If she won't come in Sheldon," Amelia shrugs, "there's really nothing anyone can do about it. You can't help a patient who doesn't want help. Who refuses help. I thought you learned that with me last year."

He doesn't hear the comment about the darker time in her life. "She doesn't want a consult because she thinks there's no chance she'll survive. She's already accepted it. She hasn't even considered that she might have a chance at survival and she needs to."

Amelia stares at him, and Sheldon feels her gaze pierce through him. He worries she's seen that he's hiding something from her, that the woman whom he talks about means so much more than just a friend.

"Is this about what _she_ needs, Sheldon? Or you?"

Sheldon frowns and exhales. "Please, Amelia."

"Okay, go ahead."

"She has brain cancer," Sheldon begins, and before she can interrupt, he adds, "It's terminal. She's terminal. It started out as breast cancer and metastasized."

"Sheldon, if she's terminal there's—"

"There _has _to be something you can do, Amelia," Sheldon pleads. "Please, there has to be something you can do. Something. Anything."

"Get her to agree to a consult and we'll see what I can do. Outside of that, there's nothing that can be done. If she comes into the hospital, maybe I can help. She needs to agree to a consult."

"And if she doesn't?"

"She'll be dead anyway."

**_…_**

Sheldon likes to go to Miranda's apartment not because he enjoys not being in the comfort of his own home, but because the apartment is one more place that he will remember when he thinks about Miranda after she is gone. Her bookshelves are filled with murder mysteries, music books, and romance novels. In the living room, she has a small area for her violin and for the few lessons she still teaches. Sheldon has never seen or heard her play, but he knows the music is beautiful because of who plays it, because of the beautiful woman who composes music that one day the world will never hear.

They sit on opposite sides of her couch, but are connected only because Miranda's feet are tucked beneath his legs for warmth. He gazes at her sometimes, taking a break from his Mark Twain novel to watch Miranda shift slightly as she reads a novel by Agatha Christie. "How's the book?"

Miranda doesn't look up from the text. "I've read it before."

"Well why don't you read something new by her?"

"Because I've read everything she's written." When he raises a curious, amused eyebrow, she explains, "I discovered her books in high school and have read her ever since. There was a summer in college that I lost my job, so all I did was read. You should try her sometime."

"I'm good with Mark Twain."

Miranda finally looks up from her book and smirks at him. Her toes wiggle beneath his jeans as she quips, "I'll read Mark Twain if you read Agatha Christie."

"You've _never_ read Mark Twain?"

"I never said that." Miranda smirks with a shrug. "But it doesn't make it any less true, I guess."

"You've read everything by Agatha Christie, but not one novel by Mark Twain? Adventures of Huckleberry Finn? Tom Sawyer? Those are his best ones!"

"Never got around to them. And," she raises a finger before he can rebut, "I don't want to. You never know what you're missing if you never experience it."

"You're missing out on masterpieces. One of, if not _the, _best American authors. Miranda—"

"Don't. I won't get around to reading him. I have more important things to do. Like live my life. And," Miranda extends her hand to him, smiles when he takes it, and pulls herself up so she's sitting. She lets her hands rest on his thigh, wandering just enough to make her intentions clear. "More important people to focus my time on than dead authors."

"Go back to reading your mystery. I'm going to read my classic."

"Testy." Miranda laughs and falls back so that she can rest her head against the pillow that cushions the arm of the couch. She watches Sheldon as he pulls her feet from under his legs and positions them so they rest on his lap. Her toes wiggle to grab his attention. "Do you like the socks?"

Sheldon smiles at the white snowmen sprinkled throughout the bright blue fabric. They are warm and thick, meant for the winter, and he holds them, but doesn't offer her a massage. "Love them."

"Want me to get you a pair?"

Sheldon smiles when she smirks and raises an eyebrow at him. "You know, yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His smile brightens when she laughs in excitement, and he squeezes one of her feet gently. "I've never seen someone this excited to buy socks before. I guess my sock collection really needs an upgrade, hm?"

"Sure does. You'll let me get you patterned socks?" Miranda snorts when he nods. "We're like a married couple without the legality. Buying you socks, we stay in on the weekends, we don't even have sex. It's like my first marriage but better because I actually like you."

"You have such a way with words."

"Hey, I have an idea."

"Yeah?"

"We go to bed."

Sheldon quips, "Well, that's forward of you. Socks to sex in less than a few minutes. Not sure how I feel about that."

"Well, you don't have to worry. I just want to sleep." Watching him consider her proposal, Miranda encourages, "You can't tell me you aren't tired. It's been a long day. A nice, warm, soft bed sounds really nice right about now, doesn't it?"

"You really want to go to bed, don't you?"

"I'm _really_ tired. Radiation kicked my ass."

"Well then," Sheldon reaches out to grab her warm hand, "let's go to bed."

Sheldon discovers as they settle beneath the covers of Miranda's bed that he's more comfortable with display of skin than Miranda is, because he strips down to boxers and an undershirt, and Miranda wears silk pajamas that cover everything besides her hands, feet, and head. When they are settled, Sheldon on the left and Miranda on the right, both on their backs, Miranda gazes over at him through the darkness. "Sheldon?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here. It's really nice to have someone you can just be alone with."

Sheldon smiles and intertwines his fingers with hers. "I know exactly what you mean."

**_…_**

"I'm just going to take quick shower and then we can have breakfast. You stay in bed," Miranda whispers to Sheldon, who is half awake beside her in bed one morning. She kisses his cheek, smiles when Sheldon lazily pats the hand that rests on his shoulder, and rolls away.

Sheldon follows and uses his left arm to pull her back against him. He smiles when she whimpers, but doesn't pull away. Miranda snuggles back against him, and Sheldon cannot resist kissing her bare shoulder. "I like this better."

"I need to shower."

"You don't smell." He'll make any argument if it'll get her to stay in bed with him a little while longer.

"I didn't shower last night like I planned. Which," she squeezes his hand in hers until he winces, "is your fault."

"You didn't complain. If I remember, it was the opposite, and you were quite vocal about it."

"You make a back massage sound so much dirtier than it really is." Miranda smirks when Sheldon kisses her shoulder again, and she's actually glad she decided on a tank top instead of a t-shirt. She struggles with wearing any kind of material around Sheldon that doesn't involve a bra designed specifically for patients who have had a mastectomy. The ramifications of her breast cancer are obvious, and even though Miranda knows she shouldn't worry, she doesn't want Sheldon to look at her like she's any less of a woman.

"I'm glad you enjoyed the massage."

"I'm glad I can enjoy anything at this point. Isn't depression one of the five stages the dying go through?"

"Yeah." Sheldon holds her tighter. "It is."

"Well, I'm not depressed. What are the other four stages?"

"Denial, anger, bargaining, and acceptance. Depression is the fourth, but people don't necessarily experience the stages in order. Some go through bargaining before anger, or they have depression before they have denial. Which one do you think you are?"

"I'm a little angry."

Sheldon kisses her neck. _Me too_.

"A little accepting."

He's not. Sheldon kisses her neck again, a little softer, lingering. His lips rest against her bare skin, and he holds Miranda tightly against him, wishing with all of his might that she doesn't have to get up to shower for cancer treatments. He finds himself wishing that Miranda didn't have cancer at all.

"I'd lie here forever if I could," Miranda whispers in the dark. She lets out a pleased whimper when Sheldon hums against her shoulder.

"We could."

"We can't. I have treatment to go to. And you have work." Miranda waits for his argument that he'll go with her to her radiation treatment. It's a daily discussion, and she spends moments wondering with a smile when he's going to correct her. When he'll remind her that he's not leaving her side, not for anything. She loves those moments, the strength and conviction in his voice that brings her pleasant warmth.

"Let's just lie here a little longer."

"I need to shower."

"Want company?"

Miranda sifts in his arms, turning to face him. The amusement in his eyes at first startles but then worries her. She isn't sure if Sheldon is sincere in his inquiry, so she rests her head against the pillow and watches him watch her. She waits, and when he doesn't make another move or suggestions, she asks hesitantly, "You want to take a shower? With me? At the same time?"

"I very much would like that."

"Sheldon, but that means…" Miranda sighs and closes her eyes, unable to meet the soft, comforting gaze that makes her feel guilty. "That means you'd be the first man to see me like this who isn't an oncologist. Sheldon, I don't have a breast. It's just a scar. There's nothing romantic about that. You don't want to see that. You don't want to see—"

"I want to see you. All of you."

"I don't have any hair. Despite what the wigs may imply."

"Cancer hasn't left me unscarred, either, Miranda."

"The answer is no." Miranda slides from the bed so fast that Sheldon doesn't even have time to stop her. He sighs as she rounds the corner of the bed, toward the bathroom, and he lies back against the mattress when Miranda kicks the door shut behind her.

By the time she is out of the shower and dressed, Sheldon already works in the kitchen to cook breakfast for them both, hoping to make amends for a wrong he doesn't quite know how to right. Scrambled eggs with toast and jelly for Miranda, and sunny-side-up eggs with toast for Sheldon. He's made it for her before once, and since she'd enjoyed it so much, he hopes she'll like it again even though he'd frustrated her minutes before.

As he flips the eggs in the pan so they sizzle again, Sheldon hears a surprised whistle behind him that forces him to turn. When he sees Miranda leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, with a smile on her face, Sheldon grins.

"Hey."

"I..." Sheldon shows her the pan. "I made eggs. Yours are on the table. Did I redeem myself?"

Miranda smiles. "You're doing pretty good. But I think I'm the one that owes you the apology. Or an explanation."

Sheldon points at the chair with the spatula. "Eat first. We'll talk later."

"In case I forget later, thank you."

Sheldon grins as Miranda sits in her chair and grabs her fork. "You're welcome. I hope it's all right."

"It's wonderful already."

Miranda eats as Sheldon finishes his eggs, and he shovels them onto his own plate. As he turns to join her at the table, Sheldon stops to kiss her softly on the cheek. When she shifts to gaze at him, he kisses her lips and smiles. "How are the eggs?"

"Perfect."

"Perfect."

They don't speak until they both finish eating since the silence between them is neither awkward or forced. Every so often, Sheldon looks up to meet Miranda's gaze, and they share a smile that warms his heart. But he can't shake the way she walked away from him, frustration etched on her thin, fine features. The shower steam washed away the fierce emotions, and now she no longer looks irritated with him or herself. As Sheldon observes her, the way she carefully eats and barely meets his gaze, he realizes she isn't irritated, but perhaps a little ashamed.

He doesn't want her to feel shame. He doesn't want her to feel anything but happiness because in the last few moments she may have, that's all she should feel. That's the only way he wants to make her feel. Not this. Not this sense of guilt, shame, or fear that he wouldn't fully understand if not for his job. Miranda has done nothing to deserve this, besides maybe reveal an insecurity about herself that Sheldon never meant to expose by pushing as much as he had. Even that didn't count. If Sheldon could turn back time, he would go back so that he didn't press her for an intimacy she was uncomfortable with.

It isn't until they start to load the dishwasher, piling the plates and forks and knives in, that Miranda grabs Sheldon's wrist as he rinses a fork underneath scalding water. She watches him toss the metal to his other hand, throw that in the washer, and shut it with a smile. "Sheldon?"

"Yeah?"

"I...I wanted to apologize for this morning."

"Nothing to apologize for. It's all right."

"No, no." She shakes her head and covers his hand with both of hers. "Really. I...I shut you down when I should have opened up. And I'm sorry about that."

"I know why you did it. It's all right, really," Sheldon encourages, not only because it's the truth, but also because it's what she needs to hear. "I just...I thought maybe we could have tried something a little more intimate than what we're used to."

"Spice things up?"

"Something like that."

"And here I thought we had the kinkiest romance in the world, what with debilitating radiation treatments, lunches and dinners, reading, napping, and just being with one another. I didn't think anything was spicier than that. What was I thinking?"

"Clearly not in your right mind."

"Clearly." Miranda kisses him on the lips. "But in all seriousness-"

"It's really all right, Miranda," Sheldon promises and squeezes her hands gently in encouragement. "I get why you were uncomfortable."

"I don't think you do. It's...It's not like someone cut your penis off. You haven't lost a testicle. My breast...It sounds primal and horrible to say that it makes me a woman, but it does. Without a breast, I feel so naked. I mean, I know my breasts don't make me who I am, but they kind of do. I don't feel like myself. I've never had a man look at me sexually since after the mastectomy. Not until you."

"And it scares you that I do? That I want to?"

"If you would believe it," Miranda answers with a weak smile, "even more than death."

With a soft exhale, Sheldon lets Miranda's hands fall from his. He cups one of her cheeks, tenderly stroking her smooth skin with the pad of his thumb. "I want you in my life, Miranda, not your breast. When I look at you, I don't see a woman with just one breast. I see a woman who has more passion in her than I have ever known, more love for people you've never met than I've ever had in my entire body. You're a woman with flare, compassion, warmth, and caring. Your breasts don't make you a woman. Your breasts don't define you."

"That helps."

"But it doesn't completely heal?"

"Will anything? Is there even time to heal?"

Sheldon sighs and shrugs. "I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. Not much of a psychiatrist, huh?" He smiles when Miranda laughs, and he wraps his arms around her in a comforting, gentle hug. Her chin rests on his shoulder as her warm cheek brushes against his, and Sheldon isn't bothered when she starts to cry in his arms. They've shared more tears over their respective cancers than he can remember. Miranda has comforted him when he's broken down, and Sheldon will always show her the same courtesy, especially now when she needs him the most.

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

Sheldon doesn't know which of them says it first. Maybe it's at the same time. He doesn't know. He can't feel anything except the warmth of her body against his, and he knows that it doesn't matter who admitted their dependence first. None of it matters because it's the truth for them both, and Sheldon doesn't know if he should be happy or sad that they finally admit it now. He just knows he's glad they have because once they admit it, it's true. And now that it's true, there's no going back. There's only forward, and only the knowledge that they're going there together, until the very end.


End file.
